I'd Rather Be In Paris (23 page)

Zara stared in disbelief as Lawson checked the clip in his gun and stuck it in the back of his waistband. “You're leaving?"

"I need to do reconnaissance on this property Del gave me while it's light.” He shrugged on his jacket.

She'd spent all morning and most of the afternoon going over the information they now had about Dmitri, Vos Loo and the Mafia. Del and Annette had managed to inundate them with biographies and other data, including MOs on Varina Scalfaro, Rogan Janvrin and Stefano Biaggio. What they hadn't been able to supply was a theory on why this group of people had joined forces with an international arms dealer and a radical biochemist.

Brainstorming, Zara, Lawson and Christian had managed to come up with a few theories on their own. None of them comforting. Now, even though Director Flynn had given them explicit orders to lay low and stay out of sight, Lawson was about to go looking for trouble.

Zara didn't like it. She also didn't like that Dmitri might be so close. “I'm going with you."

"We've already been over this.” Lawson stuck two extra clips of ammo into the inside pockets of his jacket. “Recon is my area of expertise. You stay here and see if you can solidify any of the theories we came up with on what Dmitri's doing with the mob. Meanwhile, I'll track him down."

"And if you find him?"

"I'll check out the house and perimeter for security and figure out a safe spot for us to set up surveillance tonight. I don't want us stumbling around in the dark setting off alarms."

"I know you're the expert on reconnaissance, but you always work with a team in the field. Pegasus isn't here, so I'm your team. You need me."

A faint scowl darkened his features. “No, Zara. I don't."

Even though she knew it was true, she was surprised at how much his words hurt.

He came around the bed and placed his hands on her bare arms. “Looking for booby traps and tripwires is dangerous work, even for a professional like me. You'd distract me and that alone could end up getting both of us killed. I know you hate sitting and twiddling your thumbs, but you've got to."

Taking a deep breath, she mulled over his words, both spoken and not. She could be a professional just like he was. She could ignore the butterflies zinging around in her stomach like little kamikazes that accompanied the touch of his hands. She could turn off the memories of the previous night and remind herself she still had a job to do. She could even chastise herself for thinking about putting Lawson in danger because of her own inexperience. She would stay put, even if twiddling her thumbs was out of the question.

What she couldn't do was feel happy about it. Being professional today, in her opinion, sucked the big one. But she dialed up her model-agent face and gave Lawson the answer she knew he wanted to hear. “You're the boss."

His eyes widened in surprise. Then he patted her arm and dropped a kiss on her lips. “I'll be back before dark."

She watched his back retreat through the bedroom door. “I'll be waiting."

Half an hour later, she shut Lawson's laptop and sighed in frustration. She didn't want to read about terrorists or Mafia henchmen anymore.

CIA operative or not, what woman could do terrorist intelligence analysis when she'd just spent the night before with a man whose touch made her toes curl? A man with integrity and charm and wit who made her scream with pleasure as easily as he made her laugh.

She didn't know exactly what was happening, but she'd fallen for Lawson Vaughn. Not love, just a different form of transference. Maybe it happened that morning when he'd told her he would never hurt her. Or at dinner last night when he teased her so unmercifully.

People who worked together, whether in an office or, like her and Lawson, in the field, experienced it all the time. Movie stars were a classic example. They'd work together on a set for six or eight months, get caught up in that other world and marry each other. A year later, they were at each other's throats in divorce court.

Flopping onto the bed, she closed her eyes. She could still smell him in the sheets, could still remember the feel of his body spooned around hers. How they fit together...

A knock on the door interrupted her thoughts. “Zara?” Christian's voice came from the other side. “Are you in there?"

Sitting up, she called back, “Yes. Come in."

He slung the door open and eyed her. “Are you coming out anytime today?"

"I'm working.” She motioned at the desk. “Or at least trying to work."

"Mind in the clouds and all that after your night with the Commander?"

She sighed. “Afraid so. I can't concentrate."

Christian shook his head and clucked his tongue at her. “Sounds like you've got it bad."

"What should I do?"

"Dance."

Laughing, Zara grabbed a pillow off the bed and tossed it at him. “That's your answer for everything."

He caught the pillow and tossed it back on the bed. “It actually might help your brain work better if you get away from the paperwork and get exercise."

"Couldn't I just take a walk in the gardens?"

"Get your Balanchinian body down to my studio and warm up."

"I don't have a Balanchine-type body anymore."

Christian shrugged indifference. “Frankly, love, I don't care if you're built like Dolly Parton. If you can dance, you should dance."

So dance she did.

Dressed appropriately in a leotard and tights this time, she went through a repetitive but more serious barre routine. The day-after-day fine-tuning of technique in her youth had developed the correct memory in her muscles so now she could think less about technique and enjoy the physical feeling, the musicality, of the movements. Every movement, whether at barre or at center, possessed a basic rhythm that was somewhat arbitrary but entirely logical to her body. Every movement contained an energy she loved and understood.

"Placement,” Christian barked, taking Zara's outstretched hand and turning it a centimeter to correct it.

She repositioned. Her mentor's teaching philosophy had not changed over the years. He still preached simplicity and purity of line to build strength and lengthen muscles. He still turned into Scrooge the minute he had a student in front of him.

But the chemistry between them had always worked to make Zara comfortable while at the same time challenged. He kept her interest engaged and nourished her desire to dance. In some ways, Christian was like Director Flynn. He knew what made her tick. She smiled at him in the mirror. He didn't smile back.

"You've always been a fantastic instructor,” she said.

"The best.” He still didn't break his concentration. “
Plié
."

Zara performed as instructed. “You remind me of my boss at Langley."

"I suppose that's a compliment.
Plié
."

Again, she dipped her body. “I think he's going to regret he sent me on this mission."

Christian let out a sigh of exasperation. “Do you remember when you came to me at ten and insisted you were ready to dance on pointe?"

She nodded reluctantly. “You told me no."

"Of course I did. You weren't ready.” He crossed his arms over his chest and began to pace behind her. “The exercises of ballet are soundly scientific. When done properly, they build a beautiful, strong and symmetrical body. If not done properly or begun before the student is ready for that level of training, the same exercises can cause injury. I'm sure your boss wouldn't have sent you on this assignment if he didn't think you were ready.” He faced her in the mirror again, arms still crossed. “
Plié
."

Zara rolled her eyes at him and performed the simple exercise again. The pleasant ache between her legs reminded her of a different dance she'd enjoyed last night. Her mind wandered to where Lawson was and when he would return. Would they be doing surveillance tonight instead of enjoying bedroom activities?

Her heart sank a little and the feeling startled her. Since when did she prefer sex over catching bad guys?

She didn't have time to dwell on it. “
Tendues
,” Christian announced. Zara moved into position and pointed her foot.

"And one, and two..."

Before the end of the session, Christian put Christina Aguilera on the CD player, and while she belted out, “I am beautiful", Zara followed Christian through a series of simple combinations. They repeated the sequence a few times together before Christian moved off to the side to let Zara complete the song on her own.

Christina was belting out the last chorus of the song when a deep pulsing vibrated the floor under her feet. She glanced at Christian and saw him lift his eyes to the ceiling. She stopped dancing and picked out the faint rhythmic thudding noise over the music.
Helicopter
.

The dancing forgotten, she followed Christian out of the studio, through the house and out to the garden. A hundred yards away, a helicopter sat on the immaculate lawn, the wind from its blades whipping and bending the trees in the orchard and causing goose bumps to rise on her skin.

As the blades began to slow, Annette jumped out of the helicopter, her hand on the hilt of the gun at her hip. Behind her, Director Flynn emerged.

A sudden tightness filled Zara's chest. Her boss stood still for a moment, bent slightly like the nearby trees, and adjusted his ball cap. Two suited men exited the helicopter behind him. Crew cuts, mirrored sunglasses and an air of authority, Zara immediately guessed they were cops from the CIA's Office of Security. Before the group took more than a dozen steps, Flynn and his bodyguards were intercepted by two of Christian's own security officers.

The conversation between Flynn and the security officers was animated. “That's Conrad Flynn,” she said to Christian. “He's the Director of Operations for the CIA. My boss."

Christian was silent as his security officers checked IDs. “He's here for you and Lawson."

The tightness in Zara's chest threatened to cut off her breath. Lawson had told her the Ambassador had the two of them on tape, and Flynn was in France trying to smooth things over with the local authorities as well as the French Foreign Intelligence Service. She never dreamed he would follow their trail.

Christian walked out to the cluster of men, speaking first with his security officer before extending his hand to Flynn and then to Annette. Zara debated following him, but she stayed where she was. Flynn showing up was bad news and she refused to rush headfirst into that.

When she'd come back from France after surviving Dmitri, it was Flynn who debriefed her and walked her through her psych evaluations and therapy sessions. He accepted Charles Morgan's wrath over his daughter's near-death experience with calm reassurances. Flynn was one of the few people on Earth who believed in her spying abilities.

At least up until now.

The spymaster crossed the grass, taking off his sunglasses. “How you doing, Zara?"

She nodded at Annette and took the hand Flynn extended to her, matching his strong shake with her own. “Good, sir. I appreciate you sending me back to Europe."

Flynn's expression showed none of the anger she expected. “Perhaps we should keep you here."

The helicopter's blades had finally come to a stop and the pilot killed the engine, but the loud droning continued to echo in Zara's ears. “I'd like that."

"Is your partnership with Lawson working?"

"Yes,” she said.

He studied her for a moment, waiting for more. She stayed silent. “Where is Lawson?"

Annette looked at the villa. “We need to bring both of you up to date on what's happening in Paris."

A need to defend her partner rose like a wave inside her. “Varina put a gun to my head and would have shot me if Lawson hadn't interceded. The other two came after us with similar intentions. He had no choice but to kill them before they killed us."

Flynn nodded a reassurance. “I assumed as much. Lawson has never taken a life without necessity. I'm glad I sent him along to cover your backside. I didn't need a dead officer on my hands."

Her stomach kicked. She saw the truth in his eyes before he looked away. Tasted betrayal in her mouth. “You never believed I could pull this off, did you?"

Christian stepped forward. “Perhaps we should continue this discussion inside."

Flynn ignored him and stepped closer to Zara so the two of them were face-to-face. “I believe you are quite capable of nailing Dmitri's ass to the wall, but not without causing a whole lot of other"—he searched for the right word—"issues."

"Issues?” She fought to control the shaking inside her. “What issues?"

"Look, I was just as crazy and headstrong as you when I started out, but I was also lucky I didn't get my head blown off. You take chances that would make Green Berets piss their pants. That can be good or bad. I enlisted Vaughn to be your partner to keep you from doing something completely stupid in your quest to find Dmitri and getting yourself killed. I have plans for you."

She took a deep breath and a step back. Anger boiled inside her, but being Flynn's star pupil, she was very adept at keeping a lid on it. “Lawson's not here right now, but he'll be back soon."